


Out of the Blue

by legendtripper



Series: Detroit Evolution Artfest - July 2020 [7]
Category: Detroit Evolution (2020), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Also Tina Being a Mood, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, DE ArtFest, DEArtfest, Detroit Evolution Artfest, Gavin is an Oblivious Moron, High-Octane Car Chases, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, M/M, Nines is a badass, Octopunk Media's Detroit: Evolution Fan Film, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendtripper/pseuds/legendtripper
Summary: Gavin Reed doesn't have soulmarks, and subsequently goes through every stage of grief multiple times.OR: The five times Gavin hated his nonexistent soulmate and the one time he kinda didn't.
Relationships: Tina Chen (Detroit: Become Human)/Valerie Morales-Chen, Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Series: Detroit Evolution Artfest - July 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884094
Comments: 25
Kudos: 274





	Out of the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, here's my Day Fifteen fic for Octopunk Media's Detroit Evolution Artfest (and I suppose kind of Day Twelve, if you wanna look at it that way)! Prompt was Soulmate AU and I spiced it up with a little 5 + 1 format. Many shoutouts to [salemforshort](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salemforshort) for beta-ing this, and [DomLerrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomLerrys/pseuds/DomLerrys) for both beta-ing _and_ creating some truly stunning accompanying artwork.
> 
> Once again, thank you to [Michelle Iannantuono](https://twitter.com/ladytuono) for organizing this lovely event!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

I.

Gavin Reed _hates_ soulmates.

As he stands crouched behind his bedroom door, anger roiling in his gut, listening to his foster parents argue over him for what feels like the hundredth time, that hatred climbs to a fever pitch. Soulmates, and soulmate _culture_ , that absolutely sickening concept, have royally fucked over Gavin’s life in more ways than he can count. Surprisingly enough, the fact that he doesn’t have one—that all the bruises and scars littering his body are his own—is the least of his troubles.

Soulmarks are the reason Gavin can’t get fucking fostered for longer than two weeks without getting unceremoniously shunted to some other white-bread suburban family who thinks they’ve got what it takes to raise another “troubled kid.” He knows he’s just a charity case to them; the markless boy they can _rehabilitate_ to justify their pitiful existences.

The voices outside the door are hushed, careful to keep from waking the children in the house, but the intensity is growing rapidly.

“I am _not_ having him in this house, Clara.”

“Well then what do _you_ suggest? We can’t just send him back!”

Gavin swallows thickly through the knot in his throat. Though he likes to think that maybe, just maybe, he won’t get booted back to Child Protective Services in the morning, it’s obvious that this family, just like all the rest, has no real interest in him beyond their own vanity projects. He knows this, of course, has for a while, but a tiny part of him still hoped that maybe this time would be different.

“I’m saying that’s _exactly_ what we do. I don’t want him around our son.”

“He _is_ our son, don’t you see?”

“A boy with no marks? He’s not my fucking son and he never will be.”

Letting his head lean against the door, Gavin ponders his foster father’s words. He doesn’t particularly care about his lack of marks, and he knows from some cursory research that markless individuals make up a very small portion of the population, so at least he’s not alone. But the pervasive fear that permeates the society he lives in brands Gavin as _different_. And experience tells him that people are terrified of _difference_.

There are times he curses the universe for his lot in life, though if it stems from envy, rage, or fear that he’s destined to be alone, he doesn’t know. All that matters is the now, with Gavin cowering behind a thin layer of wood as yet another pair of uncompromising adults determine his fate. He’s heard all this shit before, but as tears threaten to roll down his cheeks, he’s violently reminded it doesn’t get any easier.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

Outside, the hushed discussion is escalating into a full-blown argument.

Something slams into the wall, and Gavin’s heart rate spikes.

“I don’t _care_ what you and the kid want, he has to go.”

“Martin, _please_. We can’t just let him go, not right before his sophomore year!”

“I don’t care _what_ the fucking timing is, I’m not having that _thing_ around my son!”

“You can’t!”

“I can, and I will. Just you wait.” Footsteps begin to approach Gavin’s door, and Gavin bolts back into bed as quickly and quietly as he can manage, pulling the covers up around his face.

Gavin’s foster father roars. Everything about him is too _much_ , too _loud_ , so overwhelming it often forces Gavin into a state of paralyzing panic, and tonight is no different. To be caught eavesdropping is just about the worst thing Gavin can do, in his mind.

As he leaves, Gavin’s eyes flick to the duffel bag packed with his meager possessions. It wouldn’t be impossible. Gavin doesn’t own much, and it’s not like the kids at school will miss him. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but at this rate, anywhere is better than here.

With a broken rib and a black eye, gasping for air, Gavin forces open his window, lowering himself to the pristine lawn and hobbling off into the night.

II.

Gavin Reed doesn’t like soulmates.

This much he knows as he watches Tina nurse a beer, wincing as she holds an ice pack to her temple. A nasty bruise is blooming across her right cheekbone, all red and purple and a sickly, fresh puce color. Gavin’s in much the same way, with cuts and scrapes littering the backs of his hands and his head throbbing with what is surely a concussion.

“Whoever my soulmate is,” Tina says wryly, taking a sip of her stout, “I hope she’s got some good concealer.”

“I’m sure.” Gavin rolls his eyes at Tina’s antics. He knows that he personally has given her worse bruises than this during their sparring sessions, but she always lets it slide with him. Bemoaning the injuries caused by a friend just doesn’t offer the same catharsis as denouncing some shitbag at the academy they both hate.

“I mean, seriously,” she continues, leaning back in her chair, “who does Person think she is? That bitch already trashed my disciplinary record, and now she’s givin’ me a black eye? Please.”

“And whose fault was it that you attacked her?”

“She was threatening you! What else was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, let me sort out my own shit? I’ve been dealing with soulmate-crazed lunatics my whole life, what’s one more?”

Tina stares into the depths of her beer, furrowing her brow. “I don’t like it when you talk like that, Gavin.”

Gavin scoffs. “Like _what_?”

“You just—” Tina waves her arm around vaguely. “You pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know that’s not _true_ , so… You’re allowed to be angry, I hope you know that.”

“T, I really don’t mind. I’m used to it.”

Tina squints at him, raising a single eyebrow. “If you say so.” She pulls out her phone and examines the bruise on her face, cringing slightly. “God, my soulmate’s gonna _kill_ me when she meets me.”

The continuous talk of soulmates twists in Gavin's gut. He’s not bitter, he tells himself over and over, but at times like this, when he’s reminded of that _thing_ that’s just a fact of life for everyone else, of what he can never have, he can’t help but be resentful. Call it jealousy, call it whatever you like, sometimes Gavin just wants to be fucking _normal_. He takes a quick sip of his water.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“But it’s on m’ _face_ ,” Tina whines. “You can _see_ it.” She stifles a round of hiccups. The alcohol must finally be kicking in. “I don’ want my soulmate to be mad at me.”

“Tina, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“ _But what if she doesn’t, Gavin_.”

Gavin just sighs, picking at the bandages wrapped around his knuckles. Tina’s not the only one recovering from a brutal sparring session, today’s practice will leave him aching for days. He can only imagine what it’s like being on the other end of this phantom pain. Not like he’ll never know, of course.

The sound of his twitching fingers against the wood is deafening in the chaos of his mind.

Gavin doesn’t drink—never has, never will—but on nights like tonight, he wishes he could. How wonderful it would be to just… forget.

Tossing the ice pack on the table, Tina crosses her arms, leveling Gavin with a glazed stare. She’s already pretty tipsy, has always been a lightweight, and Gavin knows to make sure her bed is made early in the evening nowadays, but there’s something in the way she’s looking at him that sets him on edge. His eyes flick to the door out of their apartment.

“Y’know, Gav,” she slurs together, “you don’t— you don’t have any soulmarks.”

“Yes? You know that already,” Gavin says tersely. He rolls his eyes, trying to deflect, but inside, his chest seizes. Tina’s been his friend for almost two years now. She knows he’s markless, has since one unfortunate incident involving some other angry academy peers, but she’s never questioned it, and for that, Gavin is infinitely grateful. Until now. Gavin likes to think her intoxicated interest doesn’t bother him but the fact of the matter is that Gavin has lost friends over far less before, and dammit if Tina isn’t someone he wants to let go. The scorn of strangers is easy enough to deal with, but Tina’s disapproval would be nothing short of devastating. He takes a sharp breath. “You got a problem with that?”

Head lolling forward, Tina lowers her arms to the table, steadying herself. She looks at Gavin with unfocused eyes.

“Nah.”

It’s such a simple answer, but Gavin still feels the tension bleed from his back.

“Good.”

“D’ya know why?”

Gavin frowns. “Why I don’t have any soulmarks?”

“Yeah.” Tina clumsily points in his direction. “That thing.”

Gavin smiles bitterly, brushing his fingers against his water glass. If it was anyone else, he would already be screaming about how _it’s none of your business_ , but it’s not. It’s Tina. His _best friend_. And no matter how he tries to rationalize it with the idea that he doesn’t need a soulmate, that soulmates are an outdated facet of society designed to manipulate the masses into complacency in capitalist ventures (with the amount of soulmate hype around Valentine’s Day, Gavin’s not even sure his tirade is that much of an exaggeration), that he can do just fine without his _perfect match_ , the truth of the matter is…

Gavin’s turned over this question in his head since he’s been old enough to understand the concept. The only answer seems to be some personal failing; Gavin’s always been too brusque, too hostile, too harsh, and hell, that probably means something. He doesn’t get a soulmate simply because he doesn’t deserve one.

Dread curdles in his stomach, a persistent nausea that he can never quite shake.

He’s far too sober to be having this conversation.

“I need a smoke.”

Tina scowls, regaining a remarkable amount of clarity. “Gonna kill you, someday.”

“What about it?”

Gavin’s hand is on the door handle when Tina murmurs, “I just want you to be nicer to yourself.”

“Heh. Good luck with that.”

“You know I care about you, right?”

“Yeah, well, it’d be easier if you _didn’t_ ,” Gavin snaps, skin crawling with the sudden desire to get _out_. He can’t talk about soulmates any more tonight. Let Tina have her happiness. It doesn’t matter.

Tina recoils slightly, eyes widening. “Gavin, I—”

The winter air scrapes at his throat as he digs in his pockets for his lighter. Gavin’s always had a knack for burning his thumb whenever he lights a cigarette, and he briefly wonders if his soulmate can feel it before quashing that thought like all the rest.

Smoke scorches his lungs, a familiar comfort found in the clutches of an awful vice. Tina has tried to get him to quit for as long as she’s known him, and Gavin means to, he really does, but there’s something about the control of it all that appeals to him. If he doesn’t have a soulmate, it doesn’t matter, the only body he’s wrecking is his. And if he does, well, their absence has put him through hell and back, it seems only fair that they suffer in kind.

Sneaking a glance indoors, Gavin spies Tina covering a yawn with her hand, staggering off to her bedroom with a forlorn expression on her face.

Gavin _tch_ es quietly, flicking his cigarette butt into the snow.

III.

Gavin Reed isn’t fond of soulmates.

Though his former youthful vitriol has mellowed over the years, traces of it never fail to return around the holidays. Here, at the mandatory office Valentine’s Day mixer, he’s even more out of his depth, certain that the gazes of his coworkers are fixated on his conspicuous lack of extra injuries, as well as his lack of a partner, period.

To be minimally fair to himself, it’s not like Gavin hasn’t _tried_. He’s had boyfriends, girlfriends, datemates, friends with benefits, hookups, you name it, but none of them have _stuck_. They pretend it’s not the marks, they do, but it’s hard to believe they don’t look at Gavin and see a man who’s broken and useless when someone _perfect_ is out there, waiting for them instead.

Gavin sloshes his ridiculous punch that just tastes like the color pink around in a red Solo cup. The mood of this particular social is definitely _weird_ , to say the least of it. All of them are, to some degree, something about workplace sponsored romance will rub Gavin the wrong way no matter the context, but this year is different for one specific, unsettling reason.

Androids.

Of course, Gavin was _aware_ of their existence; the great inventor Elijah Kamski and his creations had been the front page of every magazine for the past decade or more. For the most part, Gavin couldn’t give a shit what Kamski and the pervs at CyberLife do, all he cares is that they stay the fuck out of his personal life. The androids’ cold, flat eyes and mostly-human mannerisms make his every muscle clench, but he’s been fortunate enough to avoid them in any interactions more personal than at the grocery checkout line. Until now.

As of January, ten or so androids have become permanent fixtures at Central, supposedly to assist with arrests and other procedural minutiae, and Gavin _fucking hates it_. Apart from the uncanny valley aspect of their entire existence, their empty gazes as they sit idle in the charging ports on either end of the bullpen, their monotone politeness, their pristine uniforms, and those spinning lights on their temples, the thing that scares Gavin the most is that… If police officers can be replaced, why not detectives?

The whole thing feels like some sick mockery of humanity, and Gavin has never been afraid to call them out on it. His disciplinary folder’s gonna turn into a fucking novel at this rate, but whatever. It’s worth it, just for the momentary satisfaction of tossing scalding coffee onto their CyberLife-issued police attire. He doesn’t care what the others think, not Fowler, not Anderson, not any of them. The D.P.D. is Gavin’s space and he’s not gonna let Dickwad Supreme Kamski take that away from him.

Watching a few of the robo-cops mill about the bullpen, sticking to the outskirts of the main social gathering, Gavin grips his cup a little tighter.

“God, I fuckin’ hate these things.”

He looks up to see Lieutenant Anderson leaning against the table next to him, pouring something from a hip flask into his cup with a derisive smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, old-timer,” Gavin snorts, tossing back more of his drink. “Thought you’d be out cavorting with the missus.”

“Eh, Fowler was gettin’ on my ass to _be more sociable, Hank_ , so, you know. Anna’s been asking me to take her to one of these shindigs, meet the coworkers, all that jazz. She even called a babysitter and everything. To be honest, it was gonna be to, you know, show her how _boring_ these things are, I’m always tellin’ her, but, uh....” He points across the lobby, where a woman with long auburn hair is chatting with Chris Miller’s wife, Katy. The two of them seem to be having a great time. “Guess that plan kinda backfired.”

“I’m sure you’ll live.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Hank rolls his eyes, knocking back half his cup’s contents in one go, swallowing down a burp. “What about you?”

“What about what?”

“What’re you doing here?”

Gavin shrugs. “Tina swore she’d cut a bitch if I didn’t meet her new girlfriend, so I promised I’d come. And besides,” he adds, “feels better than sitting at home alone for the thousandth time.”

Hank laughs, a powerful bellow that reverberates around the room. “You and me both, Reed.”

Before Gavin has a chance to ask what exactly Hank means by that, Chris wanders up to the two of them in the inappropriately nicknamed “Introverts’ Corner,” dopey grin on his face and the telltale looseness of tipsiness in his step.

“Hey, y’all,” he says, slamming his cup on the table with a little more force than necessary, “what’s poppin’?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Hank puts a hand on Chris’s back to steady his ominous swaying. “You’re worse than my aunt on half-off brunch mimosas.”

Chris blinks up at them, features screwed up with complete and utter confusion. “What’s that?”

Hank waves him off, rolling his eyes, and Gavin has to stifle an ungainly snort.

“Wh—” Chris hiccups. “What’s up with y’all?”

Gavin shrugs. “Ah, y’know. Same old.”

“Tha’s good.”

“Yeah.” Gavin stares into the depths of his punch, his distorted reflection painted in monochrome pink. The scar that runs across his nose seems particularly fitting for a day that celebrates the love hidden in disfigurement. Beside him, Hank raps his knuckles on the table.

After a few minutes of absolutely painful silence, during which Chris seems to have fallen asleep, Hank stalks off to the snack table, snatching up a handful of chips and returning to the corner. As he settles in with refreshments, Chris bolts upright out of his nap, clutching Gavin’s wrist and looking him dead in the eye with a nearly frightening intensity.

“ _Gavin_.”

Flinging his hand out to stabilize himself, Gavin croaks out, “Yeah?”

“ _Do you think androids have soulmates?_ ”

“Jesus _fuck_ , Chris, get off me,” Gavin barks, roughly shoving Chris off of him. “And no, they fucking don’t, what the fuck?”

“But they look _human_ though,” Chris drawls, gesturing expansively to the point where he almost tips himself over.

“Yeah, I don’t fucking _care_ if they look human, they’re _not_. Why can’t you see that?”

Chris’s eyes well up with tears. “I think you’re being really mean.”

“Chris, I’m not— Shit, man, I’m sorry, hold on.” Gavin scrambles for some napkins, acutely aware of Hank’s disapproving gaze boring into his back. “Here. Um.” He tries a different tactic, dredging up what little bit of sympathy he can muster toward these androids. “What makes you think they can?”

“I dunno.” Chris taps his chin. “AI sentience? Maybe? _Can_ androids love?”

“Okay, buddy, I think you’ve had enough,” Hank says, putting his arms around Chris’s shoulders. “Let’s get you back to your wife.”

“ _Nooooo_ ,” Chris moans, stubbornly refusing to leave, “I gotta _know_.”

“Why do you think _I_ know?” Gavin protests, holding up his arms.

“I mean, they don’t have soulmarks… and _you_ don’t have soulmarks…” Hank’s eyes narrow minutely, but Gavin’s busy suppressing the rage bubbling up in his throat at the implication that he’s anything at all like these fuckers just because of his lack of marks to notice. “And you’re real smart, so… maybe you know.”

Gavin grimaces. “While I appreciate the compliment, I gotta say you’re fucking insane.”

“Mmh, fair.”

“Come on, you should get home.” Hank guides Chris back to Katy, glancing back at Gavin in a way that feels far more sinister than it should. As Gavin watches, Katy accepts Chris from Hank, apologizing profusely for the inconvenience, and Hank laughs it off, insisting it was no problem at all, yada yada yada. Gavin rolls his eyes.

His amusement lasts about thirty seconds, quickly turning to dread as Hank strides purposefully back to Gavin’s table. Gavin busies himself by studying his reflection in his punch.

“So,” Hank says pointedly. “No soulmarks, huh?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I think the better question is ‘what’s it to _you_?’”

Gavin’s about to fire off some scathing retort but then Hank’s remark actually processes and stops him in his tracks. No one has _ever_ asked him about how his lack of marks affects _him_ before, only about how it impacts his friends, his relationships, or the person who’s asking the question themselves.

Under Hank’s scrutiny, Gavin finds himself at a loss for words. Chris’s idea of android soulmates, his points about their lack of soulmarks, and Hank’s concern all mingle and mesh in Gavin’s mind into an indecipherable sense of unease.

“I’m heading out,” Gavin mumbles, downing the rest of his drink in one go and chucking the cup into the trash as he leaves.

IV.

Gavin Reed has a grudging respect for soulmates.

He’s still not a fan of them as a whole, but he can only be so mad watching Tina gracefully twirl around the ballroom floor, spinning her wife in her arms to the sound of one of Detroit’s last proper string quartets. Gavin doesn’t think he’s ever seen Tina so happy as she is with Valerie.

The wedding is a modest affair, a small gathering of immediate family and close friends held in a simple venue on the outskirts of town, near the warehouse district. Inside the building, fairy lights and gauze are draped around the ceremony space, lending the whole thing an ethereal quality. Gavin totally doesn’t cry watching his best friend stand up at the altar in a flowing white dress, choking up as she reads her vows.

For some incomprehensible reason, Tina requests Gavin be her best man, and as such, he has to give a speech. A few months ago, he thought it would be impossible to find anything to say, but as the words flow off his tongue he wonders why he ever believed that. It’s _nearly_ impossible to cram every good thing Tina’s ever done into a reasonable amount of time, but by the end, Tina’s sobbing into his suit jacket and Gavin’s struggling to hold back tears as well.

Maybe, just maybe, soulmates can get a reprieve tonight.

Gavin’s newfound appreciation for soulmates notwithstanding, the event is still too much to bear after a while, so Gavin excuses himself for a cigarette.

The final dregs of summer heat are clinging to the humid air, laid out over the city like a wet blanket, and the warmth of the lighter certainly doesn’t help. Gavin’s frayed nerves are hardly _soothed_ by the cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers, but at least he’s firmly back in his comfort zone.

“Mind if I join you?”

Gavin looks up to see Valerie peeking through the door, holding the train of her dress in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He shrugs.

“You just married my best friend, I don’t think I can legally tell you to fuck off.”

Valerie laughs. “Fair enough.” She lets the door swing shut behind her, holding out her hand. Gavin obligingly lights her cigarette.

“What does Tina think about that?”

“Oh, this?” Valerie gestures vaguely, marking a trail of smoke in the sky. “After tonight, I’m done. Tina thought I could use one last hurrah. It ain’t gonna be easy, but y’know. I want Tina’s lungs intact as much as she does.”

As she takes a long drag, he eyes the bandages wrapped around her right forearm. It’s fairly archaic tradition, to cut one’s arms to signify a wedding bond—the matching scars are a coveted thing, but rarely do couples go through with it—but Tina and Valerie had unanimously decided to revive it. Already, Gavin can see the shadow of Tina’s slash on Valerie’s left arm.

“That hurt?” he asks.

Valerie snorts. “Whaddya think?”

“I suppose it was a dumb question,” Gavin amends. “Forget I asked.”

Silence descends on the parking lot, twin plumes of smoke drifting lazily in the soupy air. Valerie watches them with a disinterested side-eye.

“I suppose we’re both hypocrites, huh?”

“What?”

“Thought Tina said you quit,” she says, nodding in his direction.

Gavin shrugs. “Ask me any other time, I’d tell you I quit too.”

“Man, felt that. Something happen?”

“What makes you think anything happened?”

Valerie blows out a smoke ring, wry smile playing across her lips. “Well, in my experience, people don’t tend to pick up their shitty habits again if everything’s going just fine.”

“You make a point.”

“‘Course I do. Now, what’s on your mind?”

“God, what isn’t?” Gavin sighs. “I dunno, Val. Not sure how much Tina’s told you, but I have kind of a _complicated_ history with soulmates, I suppose. And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you guys, but it’s still…”

“I get it,” Valerie murmurs. “I mean, I can’t even _imagine_ what it would be like to not have a soulmate, Tina’s always been there for me.”

She has. Because she’s normal, and actually _has_ a perfect match. Someone to hold onto. Which is really what Gavin came out here to avoid, but he can’t seem to make himself walk away.

“Yeah.”

“I think you must be extraordinarily brave, Gavin,” Valerie says after a moment.

Gavin snorts incredulously. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I sure as hell ain’t _brave_.”

“You’ve gone your whole life without the built-in support network the rest of us have. Even on my worst days, I knew someone was out there, looking out for me. You didn’t _have_ that. I’d say that’s pretty damn brave.”

The earnestness in Valerie’s eyes burns. Gavin looks down at his shoes.

“I’d never thought of it that way.”

Valerie lays a hand on his shoulder. “I just want you to know that I won’t be mad if you need to leave. You’ve been here long enough.”

“Thanks, Val.”

She toes at the ground, scraping the gravel with her far too formal shoes. “That was a killer speech, by the way.”

“Heh. Thanks.”

“I mean it. Tina’s lucky to have you.”

“I feel like I’m about to get a reverse shovel talk,” Gavin says sarcastically.

“Nope! At least, not yet.” Valerie grins. “Get back to me after the honeymoon.”

“Can do.”

Finishing the last of her cigarette, Valerie stomps out the ashes. “Well, I should probably make sure Tina’s step-parents aren’t trying to kill each other.” She gathers up her dress and heads back for the door, pausing with it partly open. “Have a good night, Gavin.”

The voices from the party spike briefly before the closing of the door muffles them again. Inside, Tina and Valerie link arms, bathed in the soft yellow glow of hundreds of electric candles.

Gavin looks down at the fine white scars dotting the backs of his knuckles like snow. For once, he doesn’t hate them.

He crushes his cigarette butt underfoot and calls a cab.

V.

Gavin Reed is terrified of soulmates.

In the years following Tina’s wedding and seeing her relationship with Valerie hold steady, Gavin has had a lot of time for self-reflection. He’s not sure exactly when the change hit him, but at some point, the idea of remaining forever alone started to sting a little less. Granted, it’s still kinda shitty, but it’s a shitty Gavin can _deal_ with. He’s accepted his fate, as uncomfortable as it is.

Now, the android… that’s a kind of shitty Gavin does _not_ know how to deal with. When the RK900 waltzed into the office that fateful December day, Gavin threw a fucking _fit_.

“No way in _hell_ I’m working with that _thing_ ,” Gavin spit, pointing at Nines in a way that looked like an attack. “Connor was bad enough, why do we need another?”

“He offered his services and with his track record, it’s a no-brainer,” Fowler explained infuriatingly calmly. “Besides, you could do with some discipline.”

“Like _fuck_ I do,” Gavin hissed, the irony of his statement hitting him a moment later. Fowler just raised an eyebrow.

And that was that.

Gavin fought Nines’s assignment to him tooth and nail for months, trying everything from complaints to HR to irritating Fowler to being openly hostile to Nines. None of it got through. Nines remained stubbornly by his side, never rising to Gavin’s threats, practically paralyzing him with quick wit and razor-sharp deductions. Soon enough, Gavin could no longer deny his brilliance.

It all started to change the night Nines stayed to watch movies at his house, working relationship brushing the edges of a personal one. That case, an android brutalized and left for dead in an alley, had been a harsh wakeup call, opening Gavin’s eyes to the horrors visited upon the android community and pieces of his partner’s past. Slowly, he’s begun to understand.

Since the first group of android cops appeared at the precinct, Gavin had feared for his job, which before had seemed so secure. And Gavin _needed_ his job. Without it, he’s cut adrift in a world that’s proven time and again that it doesn’t want him. Nines’s very existence threatened Gavin’s life as he knew it.

Except that it didn’t.

As they worked, it became abundantly clear that Nines, though he possessed a wealth of technical information, was just as out of his depth as Gavin was. Though part of Gavin wished he’d been right, just to have something to be mad about, the fact that neither of them knew how to handle their partnership set Gavin at ease. He came to enjoy working with Nines, on some level, reveling in their playful ribbing. Even Tina noticed a difference, commenting on how his personality seemed to smooth out a little around Nines, who never hesitated to put Gavin in his place if he needed.

It was good. Things were— _are_ —good.

Sometime in August, Gavin gets the news that Nines has been called away by the feds to investigate some classified thing that Gavin’s not allowed to know about, meaning he’s stuck working with Chris, testing his field aptitude for a possible promotion. Chris is a perfectly fine police officer, and Gavin can tell that he’ll make a great detective someday, but he misses Nines’s easy company and clever sarcasm. He’ll live, but in the meantime, he’ll sure as hell complain about it.

Their most recent case is disappointingly simple, but it’s a good excuse to really let Chris take the reins, allowing Gavin to sit back and chip in with pointers when Chris falls a little short.

Chris greets him first thing in the morning, just as Gavin’s finishing the last of his coffee.

“Hey, Gavin!” he says with his signature blindingly bright smile.

Gavin scowls, chucking his coffee cup into the trash. “What is it?”

“We just tracked down where the suspect was camped out. There’s so much stuff there! Fowler already signed off, we’re expected there as soon as possible.”

“Okay, jeez, I’ll be there.” Gavin lightly thumps Chris on the back. “Gotta take a piss. See you at the car?”

A few minutes later, Chris waves at him as Gavin jogs across the lot and Gavin throws up a hand in response. “You ready, trainee?”

“I’m not a teenager working a minimum wage food court job, Gavin.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Rolling his eyes, Chris pulls open the driver’s side door and starts up the car. Gavin makes to follow him, but as he reaches for the handle, something about his reflection in the window catches his eye.

Right near his collarbone, just barely peeking out over his shirt collar, is… well, he’s not really sure, exactly.

“What the…” Gavin murmurs, pulling his collar down to inspect the area. A small patch of skin, about the size of a half-dollar, is dark and mottled, patches of color spreading out across his chest. He’d almost be inclined to call it a bruise, a concept that has far too many implications to consider at the moment, except for the color. The color’s all wrong, all rich and almost artificial blues instead of the hideous purples and reds he’s used to from his run of the mill injuries.

Gavin’s heart rate quickens. He _knows_ that mark wasn’t there when he woke up. Which means that it had to have appeared sometime between when he left his house and when he got to the precinct. Even if it _was_ a bruise, he didn’t even do anything to warrant its presence there.

“Fucking _hell_ —”

Someone knocks on the window. Gavin leaps so fast he’s afraid he’s pulled something.

“Gavin? You alright, dude?”

When he looks down, Gavin can see Chris looking up through the window at him with concern. Taking a moment to process, Gavin shakes his head, pushing his shirt collar back up. He’ll deal with that later.

As Gavin buckles himself in, Chris taps his arm. “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Gavin says, forcing himself to meet Chris’s gaze. “Just tired, is all.”

“Ah. You should really try to get more sleep.”

Gavin scoffs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

By the time they get to the scene, the mark has faded. Gavin’s not entirely sure it was ever there to begin with. He more than likely would have continued to believe that, except for one crucial detail.

The marks keep coming.

When Gavin gets home that night, he notices a smattering of blue dusting his knuckles. At first, he’s inclined to dismiss it as a trick of the light, but even after he checks it under a lamp and then frantically tries to scrub it off, the bruising—he’s taken to calling it that because that’s honestly the easiest option—remains. Gavin googles “blue marks on skin” while he fixes dinner, absentmindedly stroking his cat’s fur, but aside from a distressing array of medical conditions that he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have, all that comes up is stuff about soulmates, which Gavin instantly dismisses because he hasn’t gone through 33 years of this bullshit to suddenly have a soulmate pop up out of nowhere.

When he wakes up the next morning, Gavin’s relieved to see that the blue on his knuckles has disappeared. However, his relief lasts approximately two minutes.

The instant he lifts his shirt up to change, Gavin’s heart plummets into his stomach. Dozens of blue marks are scattered across his torso, from the small, round bruises like the one on his collarbone the day before, to long, thin gashes, to massive patches of discoloration concentrated around his ribs. Gavin takes a long, labored breath through tired lungs. These are the telltale marks of a fight, so horribly similar to the night Gavin was left for dead on the streets.

He feels like he’s been put through the wringer without ever leaving his bed.

Gavin momentarily debates calling in sick, but his duties to Chris stop him. He deserves a mentor that isn’t bogged down by his own personal issues, mild terror be damned.

The pain ebbs throughout the day, thank _God_ , Gavin’s lungs are already nicotine-damaged enough as is, and when Gavin hazards a glance under his shirt when he thinks no one’s looking, most of the marks have faded as well. Although nothing appears to be physically wrong with him, Gavin still can’t shake the persistent sense of unease that’s been following him since he saw the first bruise.

 _Maybe Nines will know what to do_ , Gavin finds himself thinking, before quickly brushing that notion aside. Somehow, the prospect of telling Nines sets his teeth on edge. No, he’ll figure this out on his own. There’s still a month before Nines is set to return, that should be _plenty_ of time.

It is not.

As September approaches and summer bleeds into autumn, Gavin’s no closer to finding an answer. There are periods of time where the marks stay gone for a few days, but inevitably, they always return. Eventually, Gavin’s forced to invest in a good concealer to cover up the blue spreading across his face, infectious. More often than not, his head rings and his body aches, and Gavin’s so hopped up on ibuprofen and NyQuil to make himself fucking _sleep_ that Fowler orders him to go home and “just take a goddamn nap, Reed.” The company of Asshole the cat does little to cheer him up, not when he can see blue, blue, _blue_ shifting across his skin like a lava lamp.

Despite the exhaustion in his bones, Gavin can’t sleep.

He turns over in his bed, watching the bruises bloom on his hand in the moonlight, heart fluttering in his chest.

It’s almost four a.m. by the time Gavin falls into an uneasy slumber.

Nines comes back without ceremony, simply stepping into the D.P.D. the morning he was supposed to return, handing Gavin a freshly brewed coffee like he’d never even left.

“Good morning, Detective Reed,” he says, prompting Gavin to frantically tug his sleeve down to cover the bruise he’d been inspecting on his wrist. It’s not that he doesn’t want Nines to see it, per se, he’d just… rather not deal with the inevitable questions that are sure to follow.

“Mornin’,” Gavin grumbles, begrudgingly accepting the proffered drink. “How was super-secret spy camp?”

Nines wrinkles his nose. “It was… unpleasant, to say the very least of it.”

Gavin snorts into his coffee. “That bad, huh?”

“I certainly did not enjoy it.”

“Heh. Got any state secrets you’d like to dish?”

“Unless you’d like to wind up in a maximum security prison, delivered by yours truly,” Nines arches a wry eyebrow, “I’d advise leaving the ‘state secrets’ to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Spinning in his chair to face Nines better, Gavin kicks his feet up on the table to distract from the way he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Whaddya got for us?”

Gavin likes this, falling back into their carefully crafted routine. It’s so easy he can almost convince himself everything’s as it should be. But he spends the whole day in a tense limbo, praying to whatever deities he knows that no more marks appear where Nines will notice. He’s careful about keeping his collar high, his cuffs pulled low, his gestures tight and contained. Thank God it’s the start of a new case, requiring only a quick scene visit and then a shit-ton of theorizing at their desks back at the station. Tedious, sure, but almost no chance of an accidental sleeve slip.

It’s as Gavin is trawling through yet another seemingly endless list of witnesses that Nines taps his hand.

Gavin pulls an earbud out. “Hmm?”

Across the table, Nines fidgets in his seat a little, before shutting off his computer.

“Gavin, may I ask you a personal question?”

 _Oh God_.

“Sure,” Gavin says, sounding much calmer than he is. “Shoot.”

Nines’s eyes flick down to the table, before he finally meets Gavin’s gaze. “During my time with the FBI, I was… _made aware_ of certain aspects of human culture. The soulmate marks. At risk of disclosing too much, I won’t say why, other than that they were relevant to the work I was conducting.”

“And? What does this have to do with me?” Gavin asks, though he has a terrible feeling that he knows exactly where this is going.

“Well…”

“Just spit it out, jeez.”

“I was wondering why you don’t appear to have any.”

 _There_ it is. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it, but it was one thing explaining it to humans who’d grown up with the social norms. An android, let alone Gavin’s partner, is something else entirely.

“God, Nines,” Gavin runs his hands over his face, “I don’t fuckin’ know. I haven’t known my whole damn life.”

Nines leans back in his chair, expression switching from quizzical to concerned in the blink of an eye. “I’m sorry, Gavin, I didn’t realize it was such a sore subject, apologies for bringing it up.”

“No, no, it’s— it’s fine, Nines, really.” Gavin waves him off, and for a brief moment of panic, he thinks some of the bruising peeks out from under his sleeve, but Nines doesn’t say anything. “You’re good. I’m used to it.”

Nines considers this for a moment. “If you’re certain.”

“I am. It’s just, y’know. Something I have to live with.”

“I understand.” Nines nods. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

Gavin snorts. “Get out of here with that therapist shit.”

“Would you prefer I punch you in the face?”

“I mean, hey, it might wake me up after staring at these files for four hours,” Gavin shrugs.

Nines rolls his eyes. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass, Detective Reed. I have an appointment at CyberLife this afternoon and I’d hate to miss it to explain to Fowler why you earned yourself a split lip.”

“My hero,” Gavin drawls. “Wait. Appointment? What for?”

“Classified,” Nines says, turning his computer back on.

Gavin blinks. “Sheesh, sorry, didn’t mean to pry.”

When Nines doesn’t respond, Gavin replaces his earbud and starts up his music. He hazards a look at the bruise on his wrist while Nines is in the breakroom, brewing his third cup of coffee for the day. Worryingly, this one hasn’t faded like all the others. The vibrant blues are as bright as ever.

He frowns, tugging the sleeve back down and returning to his notes.

This is a problem for another day.

\+ I.

Just once, Gavin would like to get through a case without a blockbuster-style fight scene. Or, in this case, a fucking _car chase_ through downtown Detroit.

Gavin grits his teeth, slamming the gas pedal down as far as he can manage without killing himself by rear-ending some unfortunate bystander. Next to him, Nines is leaning out the passenger window, keeping an eye on the speeding car several hundred feet down the road from them. It’s so horrifically Hollywood, from the shrieking sirens to the bustling city streets, and Gavin _hates it_.

“Call backup!” Gavin roars over the noise, cranking the wheel sharply to the left.

“Already done! I’ve also logged their license plate and car’s make and model in case we lose them.”

“ _Great_. Just keep your eyes on the road.”

Gavin swerves into the oncoming traffic lanes, horns blaring all around him.

“Take a left at 3rd street!” Nines barks, and Gavin nods his assent before realizing that’s not gonna do anything. As they fly around the corner, the streets become much clearer, having given the other vehicles a chance to get out of the way, and Gavin floors it, steadily gaining on their suspects.

Nines taps Gavin on the shoulder. “Get me close to them, I have an idea.”

“Roger that.” Their squad car slowly inches closer to the much sleeker sports car they’ve been pursuing. Gavin eyes two men in the back, who appear to be in the process of assembling some very mean-looking guns. “What’s this plan of yours?”

“Just watch.”

“Nines wait—” Before Gavin can finish asking what the fuck his partner’s about to do, Nines throws himself out the window, breaking into a dead sprint down the street.

And he’s _faster_ than them.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Gavin breathes, before ducking out of the way of the first volley of gunfire. His windshield now boasts four vicious bullet holes, right about eye level. When he checks in with Nines, he can see him running almost in tandem with the car. Gavin’s _certain_ Nines is going to tear the wheels off, or maybe punch somebody in the face, but no. He _keeps going_ , surpassing the car and heading them off. All at once, the brilliance of Nines’s plan hits them.

_He’s standing right outside the D.P.D._

Gavin watches the car carefully, making sure Nines won’t get flattened by two dickheads in a Lamborghini, increasing levels of anxiety squeezing his lungs. Nines is all alone on a major street with a car barreling towards him at speeds nearing 90 miles per hour.

He puts his hands out.

The car slams into him full speed, hood crumpling around his arms. As Nines is thrown down the street by the car’s swiftly dissipating forward momentum, twin bolts of pain shoot up Gavin’s arms and he’s forced to tear his hands off the steering wheel, unable to keep his grip on it. Miraculously, he manages to keep the car on track, gingerly taking control as the pain ebbs. Ahead of him, Nines has pulled himself off the pavement and is currently charging the demolished sports car.

Someone in the car draws a gun.

“Dipshit! Duck!” Gavin shouts as he hauls ass out of his car. Too late. The gun fires a single round at Nines’s torso. And Nines doesn’t stop running. As the bullet ricochets off Nines, Gavin’s hip jerks backward, muscles screaming in agony, but he forces himself to close the distance, drawing his own gun as he does so.

With the man next to the car distracted by the incoming murder robot, Gavin is able to sneak up behind him and knock the gun out of his hand, slapping cuffs on him before he has the chance to fight back.

“You stay there,” Gavin hisses, turning his attention back on Nines. He and the driver of the car are wrestling for the gun, and Nines is pretty obviously winning, but then the driver manages to break free, scrambling for the car. Nines takes off after him, reaching for the back of his shirt—

A baseball bat cracks across his face. Nines’s head snaps back, Thirium streaming from his nose, which is hideously bent out of shape. Stabbing pain flares behind Gavin’s eyes, and he collapses to the concrete. Beside him, Nines is in a similar state, staggering backward on trembling legs. Their perp, satisfied, takes off down the street, right into the arms of a waiting Tina Chen, who subdues him easily.

Gavin flashes her a bleary thumbs up from the ground.

It’s over.

Groaning, Gavin picks himself up off the ground, accepting a helping hand from a relatively unscathed Nines. Aside from the fact that his nose is bent in the middle from the baseball bat, he looks otherwise normal. Around them, the officers are escorting the suspects away from the smoking wreck of their car.

“Nice going there, Terminator,” Gavin says, elbowing Nines as he walks toward the door. His head hurts like a motherfucker. Maybe he’ll go get an ice pack or something.

The air conditioning of the precinct is a blessed respite from the sweltering September heat and instantly soothes the pain lancing through Gavin’s body. Officers at their desks gawk as Gavin walks in, but he pays them no mind. After all, he and his partner just stopped a car chase right outside their office. That’s certainly something worth staring about. Nines’s shoes click loudly in the relative silence.

Gavin beelines toward the breakroom, dead set on finding something to soothe the ache radiating from his face. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say his nose was broken, but he’s pretty sure he’d remember getting clocked upside the head.

He’s almost there when he spots Tina staring at him, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, I’ll be with you in a minute, just let me wash up, ‘kay?”

Tina doesn’t respond.

“Sheesh.” Gavin raises an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

When Tina still doesn't say anything, Gavin shrugs, pulls out an ice pack, and heads for the bathrooms to clean himself off a little before dealing with endless piles of paperwork.

He turns on the water, ice-cold and slightly metallic, but before he can bring it to his face…

The sight that greets him in the mirror makes his blood run cold.

Gavin’s nose is broken. There’s no doubt about that. The bone is caved in the middle, and blue is spreading across the bridge faster than he’s ever seen it before. His hands are mottled and patchy, scraped red and raw from the fall, the blood contrasting with the royal blues of his mysterious bruising.

But the worst part is the nosebleed.

Gavin’s had nosebleeds all throughout his life, both from picking one too many fights and some chronic condition that meant frequent trips to the school nurse, when that was still applicable. He knows the feeling of blood dripping down his face, trickling down his throat, the coppery taste that comes a few seconds before the rest. This is not that.

The fluid that streams from his nose and pools in his mouth is bright blue, nearly tasteless, and decidedly _not_ blood, and with a jolt, Gavin realizes what it is.

 _Thirium_.

The _who_ and the _why_ and the _how_ clamor for attention in Gavin’s brain, but all he can do is stare as the Thirium snakes its way down his chin and drips onto his shirt and into the sink. He may as well be frozen to the floor.

“What the _hell_?” he murmurs, slowly bringing a shaking hand to his lip, swiping some of the Thirium away. Seeing the blue on his fingers does nothing to soothe his nerves; if anything, feeling it only makes it that much more real.

The door to the bathroom swings open, and for a second, Gavin panics— _how the fuck is he gonna explain_ this _?_ —but then Nines’s voice rings out, clear and strong, “Gavin?”

Gavin’s head snaps up, and his eyes meet Nines’s in the mirror.

Lined up like this, side by side, he finally understands.

“ _You_ ,” he breathes, whirling to face Nines, pressing his back to the sink. “All along, it— it was _you_.”

Nines doesn’t even have the decency to look surprised. “Yes.”

“Goddammit, you _knew_ , didn’t you?” Of course he did. Of _course_ he knew the whole damn time. It all makes sense now—the bruises, the phantom pains, all products of Nines’s time on his mission, and Gavin’s heart stutters as he realizes how many of those marks meant bullet wounds—but instead of feeling relieved that finally, _finally_ , his soulmate is here, Gavin is _furious_.

“How long?” He can’t seem to look Nines in the eye anymore. “How long did you know?”

Nines shifts his weight from side to side, clasping his hands behind his back. “Definitively? Only recently. When I asked you, about— about your soulmarks.” He sighs. “But I’ve suspected much longer than that.”

“There a reason you didn’t think to _say_ anything?”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Gavin.”

“Make me uncomfortable?” Gavin scoffs. “Jesus fucking _shit_ , Nines, you don’t just _hide_ that from people! We’re supposed to be _partners_ , I’m supposed to fucking _trust_ you! And now you go and pull that shit? No. Fuck you.”

Gavin’s footsteps echo around the bathroom as he storms toward the exit, but he’s stopped at the last second by Nines catching his wrist in a vice grip.

“At least let me set your nose.” His words are so quiet Gavin almost misses them. “Please.”

“Nines, I…” Gavin wants to pull away, to go home and sleep for fourteen hours and hope this was all some terrible nightmare, but his head hurts and some part of him knows there’s no one more qualified on hand to make sure his nose doesn’t heal wrong _again_. “Okay.”

They walk to the makeshift medical room in absolute quiet, ignoring the many awestruck stares directed their way. Once they arrive, Nines shuts the door behind them, deftly retrieving a first aid kit from one of the cupboards. While he rifles through its contents, Gavin sets about gathering pain meds and towels and whatever other supplies he might need. Setting a bottle of disinfectant on the counter, Gavin grumbles, “You ready yet?”

“Just about.” The first aid kit snaps shut with a click. “Have a seat.”

Feeling increasingly mortified, Gavin hops up onto the parchment-covered examination table, crossing his arms. Nines stoops in front of him, soaking a cotton ball with alcohol.

“This may sting a little,” he says, cupping Gavin’s jaw with one hand and pressing the cotton ball to his nose with the other. He’s right, it does sting. But it’s nothing Gavin’s not used to. Nines frowns sympathetically, daubing at the break and abrasions around it. This is just the easy part, though.

“You know what I need to do, right?” Nines asks, tossing the cotton ball into a nearby trash can.

“Unfortunately.” Gavin gestures at the scar on his nose. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Nines’s face, and dammit, Gavin can’t stay mad at him. “I can see that.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

Nines nods solemnly, bringing his fingers up to Gavin’s face. He feels around the break with shockingly gentle touches, cataloging exactly where he needs to press. Gavin grimaces. He always hates this part.

“On three?” Nines says softly.

“Fine. Sure.”

“Of course.” Fingers in position, Nines begins the countdown. “One.”

“Two.”

And the motherfucker goes _early_ , swiftly jerking the bone back into place.

“Oh, you _bitch_ ,” Gavin hisses, recoiling instinctively. “That shit hurt!”

Nines just rolls his eyes, preparing a splint. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I highly doubt that. Look up?”

Tears pricking the back of his eyes, Gavin tilts his head back, allowing Nines better access to his nose.

“You done this before?” he says in some nervous attempt at small talk.

“My programming comes with the instructions to complete a variety of tasks.”

“Yeah, but like, you ever actually _done_ it?”

Nines smiles apologetically. “You’re the first.”

“Wow.” Gavin blinks. “Well, you’re doin’ pretty good, by my books.”

“Thank you, Gavin.” Pressing the last strip of medical tape into place, Nines steps back to admire his handiwork. “I believe I’m finished.”

“Heh. Thanks.” Gavin sits up, delicately pinching his nose. The splint is expertly applied, as is to be expected from CyberLife’s crowning achievement. “Not bad.”

Nines purses his lips but remains stubbornly quiet.

“Well, uh,” Gavin says, “I guess that’s that.” Nines doesn’t acknowledge him, just squares his shoulders, and heads for the door. And it really _should_ be it, except that maybe Gavin doesn’t hate him as much as he thought, and—

“Wait.”

Nines pauses, hand on the knob. “Yes?”

“Just— c’mere a second.”

Hesitantly, Nines rejoins Gavin by his bed, posture as stiff as the first day they met. At Gavin’s encouragement, Nines grabs a plastic chair and places it at the end of the examination table, carefully taking a seat.

“What is it?”

Gavin takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” Nines asks, cocking his head to the side in a gesture that reminds Gavin a little too much of Connor.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what.”

Annoyingly, Nines does not pitch in. Looks like Gavin’s gonna have to do all the emotional heavy lifting on this one, huh?

“God, Nines, I— I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier.” Gavin absentmindedly picks at a cuticle on his thumb, far preferring it to the alternative of looking at Nines. “I just— I’ve had… problems, I guess, with, y’know, _soulmate stuff_ , in the past, so I freaked. And I shouldn't have blown up on you like I did, that was a hundred percent my fault. And I’m really sorry about all that, I am, but I…” Finally, Gavin looks up to Nines’s unfairly blue eyes boring into his, open and vulnerable. “I never expected it to be you.”

Nines’s face falls. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one you wanted.”

“What? Nines, no, it’s— it’s not that at _all_ , Jesus.”

“Then would you care to enlighten me?” As much as it’s infuriating occasionally, Gavin can never say no to him.

“Look, Tin Can, it goes like this. You’re born a kid with no soulmarks in a world that’s obsessed with them. You bounce from foster to foster because no one wants to keep a markless kid. You run away from home at fifteen and stupidly, you join a drug ring because they won’t turn you away as long as you can bring in money. You get kicked out when you refuse to deal and you wind up at a fucking _police station_ of all places. And there, you train, and you train, and you train, and still, people give you shit about the marks. You graduate, you become a cop, you work. And the soulmate stuff _still_ follows you. No one forgets, least of all _you_.”

Gavin clenches his jaw, willing himself to keep talking. “So you’re pretty fucking angry when it turns out you had a soulmate all along and he didn’t even bother to _tell_ you. And look, I know you did it because you were taking me into consideration, and that’s _great_ , but also, I just wish you’d told me sooner. You get it?’

“I think so.” Nines clasps his hands in his lap. “So what does that mean for us?”

“Do you promise to be a good soulmate to make up for all the years I didn’t have you?” Gavin asks, grinning.

“I promise.”

“And do you promise not to break my nose by proxy again?”

Nines rolls his eyes. “I’ll try.”

“You’d better, three times is enough for me.”

“Of course.” Nines smiles, resting a hand on the back of Gavin’s neck. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for keeping this a secret. I simply assumed you knew already and had elected to ignore it.”

“To be fair, that _does_ sound like something I would do.” Gavin leans his head against Nines’s. “But I forgive you.”

“Good.”

They sit like that for a moment, breathing in the smell of antiseptic and blood and Thirium, until Nines says, “What now?’

Gavin smiles. “Well, now that we’re soulmates, I suppose I can ask you to kiss me.”

“I suppose you could.”

“So, Nines, will you kiss me?”

“With pleasure.”

After the fight, Gavin can barely feel his face, but kissing Nines is still a thousand times better than he thought it would be. Soft, chaste lips and one hand resting against his neck, the other twining their fingers together. It would be perfect, except for one tiny issue.

“You taste like Thirium,” Gavin murmurs against Nines’s lips, effectively breaking the kiss.

“So do you.”

“Touché.”

Gavin laughs. “Who knew? Humans can bleed Thirium.”

“Though I’d much prefer they didn’t,” Nines adds, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, that’s all on you, buddy.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Pressing one more kiss to Nines’s lips, Gavin says, “I just stopped a speeding car with my body, I think I’m allowed.”

“But I did that.”

“Oh my god, Nines. It was a joke.”

“Of course.” Nines smiles, running a thumb against Gavin’s jawline. “You know I love you, right?”

“‘Course I do, you dummy.” Gavin elbows Nines in the ribs. “Now shut up and kiss me before Tina gets here.”

“I suppose,” Nines says haughtily, but he leans in anyway.

_Gavin Reed actually kinda loves soulmates._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I meant to have this out a lot sooner, but, y'know. Life happened. One massive hug for all of you who've come with me on this wild ride! I've got a few more in the pipeline for the rest of the month and I hope you'll enjoy them!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://legendtripper.tumblr.com/) (@legendtripper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/legendtripperb) (@legendtripperb)!
> 
> Leave a comment if you're feeling generous! I'm use them to charge my slowly dying computer with positive energy.
> 
> Be sure to check out Octopunk Media's [Detroit: Evolution](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apUn-YMMdZ8) on YouTube, as well as its lovely director (Michelle Iannantuono) and cast (Maximilian Koger, Chris Trindade, Jillian Geurts, Carla Kim, JJ Goller, and Michael Smallwood) wherever they can be found!
> 
> And here is your not-so-friendly reminder that this is a work of fiction and to kindly refrain from shipping Maximilian and Chris. I'll hit you with this Lamborgini.
> 
> As Michelle would say, "Stay great, hydrate, and have a happy timezone!"


End file.
